Shrine
by joanamidena
Summary: Lord Voldemort finds out secrets Bellatrix kept hidden from everyone - for then he learns a great deal of how she succumbed to herself and what became of her - Increasing Bellamort along the story - contains spoilers  Rated M for strong themes
1. Chapter 1: Only dust moves

_**Only dust moves, set in motion eons ago.**_

Long had the night fallen, and the hustling wind made thick airflows whistle inside the corridors of the manor, torches' lights dimmed and grew along the stone walls. In the hall, the dark sillouette of a woman entered through the doors, closing them soon afterwards. She slid along the marble floor and up the grand staircase, longing to attend the call of her master.

As she passed near the light, her face could be seen, her pale skin, dark eyes, hollow cheeks and slightly puckered lips – she should have been once a beautiful woman, but it seemed that long years of unspeakable darkness has traded the lively glow for some sort of shadow.

Reaching the end of the largest corridor, she knocked on the door.

"Enter" the voice was commanding.

Obeying, she did so, already kneeling, for her devotion had to be shown through her body.

"My lord" she said, soothingly, purring, as if the words tasted nicely on her tongue.

He stood still, his back turned to her, the hearth sending a warm light upon his figure – slim and straight. He cocked his head to the side, but she didn't feel his gaze upon her as his voice kept on.

"Bellatrix" , after that quick acknowledgement of the witch by his feet, he continued "I am glad my presence in this house doesn't seem to bother you."

"No, my lord!" she cried, glancing up at him with glimmering eyes, "It's an honour, an honour indeed!"

"Ah, but that wasn't the reaction when I was obliged to stay at the house of... others." the wizard added, an evll grin creeping up his face. He heard Bellatrix shriek with anger,

"They are not worthy of your presence, my lord! Lucius and my sister were always full of cowardice." she crawled, kissing the hem of his robes, "In the otherhand, I am honoured of having the mightiest wizard of all time under my very roof, my lord!"

"I know that, Bellatrix..." he seemed satisfied with his own malice, "You have always been the most faithful of my followers."

She made some unintelligible sound of pleasure.

"But still, I was very displeased today – you know why is that?"

For the first time since she entered the room, Bellatrix looked hesitant, dropping her head down and scratching slightly her nails on the floor.

"No, my lord." she whispered.

"Well, I've learned you hide things from me, Bellatrix." his tone had changed. It was now less sibilant, though the fake velvetness of his voice turned it into something much more dangerous.

"No, my lord! Never!" she exclaimed.

"No? Then you wouldn't mind if I were to keep this, would you?" he held up, so Bellatrix could see, a silver chain, incredibly thin, which sustained a delicate locket. It was of a deep silver-grey, darkened by time, and beautifully crafted – leaves and branches and the tiniest roses – it all surrounded a small ruby which's opacity could also be related to it's age. "Would you, Bellatrix?"

At the sight of it, the witch lost her composture, trembling violently.

"N-no, my lord." she barely whispered "But there's nothing there, my lord, nothing important."

"Is it true, my dear Bellatrix?" Voldemort turned to her fully, glancing down, with his glazing eyes, to the shivering woman at his feet "Then you won't mind me opening it, right?"

She whimpered again, grasping the hem of his clothing.

"Please, lord, please don't." the brunnete's voice cracked and the despair was easily noticed "I swear, it's nothing that would matter to you, my lord, please, don't!"

The wizard seemed to gain pleasure as he noticed the way her voice reached higher notes as she went more and more scared – but anger slowly appeared on his traces as his favourite Death Eater tried to hide something , to betray him. With one fierceful movement of his wand, he threw her across the room, watching her body banged against the wall and fell on the floor, holding a cry.

Being such a Legilimens, Lord Voldemort could easily tell she was afraid. Bellatrix feared the opening of the locket more than she feared his rage for what seemed a very unloyal behaviour, and she crawled, asking for him to have mercy, for him not to open it, the containings of it were useless to him.

"Stop!"

No matter the depth of her nervousness, Bellatrix Lestrange could never quit obeying direct orders from her master. So she gasped, coughed and held a sob, but stayed still, staring at him with silent eyes.

"Now, Bellatix... I believe you have said many times you would do anything I asked?"

When she opened her mouth to speak, Voldemort hissed, and her jaw closed immediatly, though a small opening between her lips made it quite clear it was done with very much effort. Then, the witch nodded.

"I believe you said you'd devote your life to me?"

Seemingly at the edge of herself, she nodded once again.

"I believe you despised all traitors and all those who fail me?"

With a sickening sob, she crawled near him, nodding enthusiastically.

"Then, I shall open the locket and you shall not say a word!" he demanded, swiftly throwing her aside again, though less forceful this time. He walked towards the room, closing the doors with an ample movement of his arms. The hearth was now the only light in the room, and the brunette thought it grew paler and paler as her master approached her again, the said object glittering slightly against his excessively pale skin.

With a gesture both magnificent and dramatic, he fidgeted a bit to open it – quite an easy task, for it didn't seem to be very well-worn.

It was empty. The slightly rusty metal inside it was only as trite as the ouside: no picture, no paper, nothing ever seemed to have been there. Voldemort thought he was being played fool, hissing angry and glaring to his servant, who had remained still, eyes glued to the wizard.

But any thought of punishment was swept off his mind as he saw her eyes turn bigger and bigger and ever so scared that her pupils disappeared in the bottom of her brown iris. She whimpered, creeping away from him – no, it wasn't from him, Bellatrix had never tried to dodge her punishments.

"It's coming, it's coming!" she cried again, clutching her skinny hands into eachother. "Behind you, my lord! They are all coming!"

Voldemort turned around, doubting the sanity of his follower, who now made stifled noises, to find himself standing in front of pure darkness. It covered both of them quite fast – that thick, heavy mist of darkness.

He felt Bellatrix's hands grasp his clothes, hearing her startled breath as her body seemed to crumble to the ground once again, despite the lack of sound as it hit a surface. Not at least impressed with her useless behaviour, the man – for he was somewhat still a man – got hold of her hair and pulled her up, hissing threatningly:

"What was that you stored in this locket, Lestrange?"  
There were many answers to expect, many to refuse and many to doubt – yet she used one that astounded them.

Because in between her whimpers and cries, she managed to say, clearly:

"Memories, my lord."

_**Do not own HP-universe/Bellatrix/Voldemort, these are all property of J.K. Rowling.**_

_First attempt at a multichapter Bellamort fanfic – I simply love this pairing! Will be updating soon, since I've already many ideas popping around (: Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my native language... Reviews are appreciated (and do tell me if there are any problems with the characters, I've been trying my Best for them not to become OOC)._

_Thanks,_

_Joana_

_PS: Title of the chapter from the song "Only Dust Moves..." of Thy Serpent_


	2. Chapter 2: Possible Pasts

**Important chapter! Sorry it's so long… But I wanted to characterize things quite clearly from the begging, the other memories won't take that long to be written, I think.**

**_Possible pasts_**

It was not hard for the Dark Lord to notice the slow change of the room that surrounded them. Warm before, now it had turned quite cold, since it seemed light wind came whispering through the cracks of the ceiling. Previously, it had a somewhat strong light coming from the hearth, spreading thick, dancing shadows around the chamber, and here was dark, the scraps of luminosity which reached the inside were grayish and thin. It was clearly an attic, not a very pleasant place to be in, since it seemed to have turned into a deposit for old furniture and objects – they were not scattered around, there was some hint of order, but the massive accumulation made the room quite confusing.

No sound could be heard, but then Bellatrix clutched his clothing once again, and he noticed a small ragged breath which didn't seem to come from neither of them.

"What's it?" he demanded to know, turning what was an evil glare at his servant.

"It's me, lord." it was the numb response of her tired voice.

Right when he was about to scold her again – for whatever reason the wizard could think of, since her stubbornness had put him in a situation of great annoyance – he heard another sound. It seemed someone was crawling by them, and it suddenly stopped. As his eyes slowly grew accustomed to the darkness, Voldemort could see the source of it, a small girl sitting on the floor near them, though she was not quite clear. Just white lace and thick black curls which grew on a way too big for her little body – yet he could tell who she was.

"Is that you, Bellatrix?" he murmured, somewhat surprised to the image of his Death Eater as a kid.

When the Dark Lord had first seen her, she was already a young woman, though still not of age, but with a posture and gestures of a grown-up. To notice that girl and perceive her as the talented and wicked witch he knew so well was a hard task, indeed! The same thought seemed to cross the mind of the brunette by him, for she leaned forward, watching.

"Yes, my lord… It's me." she answered, stiffly, as her past's figure suddenly looked up.

"Trixie?" the voice came up from below them - coy, but with a very clear hint of command. "Trixie, are you up there? I need to talk to you."

The girl crawled again, this time much more silently and determined, entering in a corner between an armchair and a writing table, pushing an old curtain as to hide herself, spirals of dust being spread around by the movement. Voldemort was amused by the cunning behavior of the small kid – she seemed so not contrite on hiding – as the trapdoor to the attic opened and a somewhat bulky figure entered, looking around for the girl.

"Trixie?" he called once again "Trixie?"

"What a suitable nickname, Bellatrix." Voldemort mocked "Why, I should call you like this from now on."

No response came from the woman who remained half-bent, her gaze fixed on the fabric that hid young Trixie from her seeker.

The man didn't take long in his search, moving out of the attic while murmuring in unpleasantness – and then Bellatrix relaxed a bit, though not too much, since Trixie had poked her head out of her hiding spot and grinned as she confirmed that her chaser was out of sight. The Dark Lord once again noticed how mischievous the girl seemed to be, since she moved to press her head against the floor, trying to make sure she was free to leave the place without bumping into someone she did not want to.

Nodding, the brunette by him swiftly followed her, appearing to be unaware of her master's hiss. He had no choice but to follow the two of them, since the room was slowly disjointing itself again into the blackness of a memory limb – though he did not do it willingly.

Bellatrix slid on the floor at an almost desperate speed, trying to catch up with the kid who turned on and on the multiple corridors. They all looked quite the same, the usual stone walls and hard floors of wizard's manors, and the small changes between one and another were the portraits on the walls, the rugs and small furniture – but still, young Trixie did not seem to get lost, in fact, it seemed she was using the maze-like house in her favor.

It took several minutes for them to reach a somewhat spacious hall with three divisions, three corridors that took opposite directions. Trixie took the one to the left, reaching its end, a large and beautifully crafted wooden door, in which could be read "Bellatrix Black" in iron letters.

The room did not carry bear any resemblance of belonging to a small girl, for it had been decorated quite soberly, though with hints of womanhood by flower-ish garments and one or another splash of red – in a cushion, in the courtains of the bed – but it was all too much mature. Trixie locked the door tightly, moving to sit on her bed.

"I never knew you had such a refined taste when a child, Bellatrix." the Dark Lord stated, mockingly.

"Narcissa was always the girly one, my lord." she replied, glancing around the room with boredom, "Though I did not choose the room's furniture, that were my parents, I only threw things out as I grew."

"You seemed as mischievous as you are today." he added, waving his hand dismissively at Trixie, who now read a book.

"I suppose."

"But then, we all are a portrait of our future when we are children."

She nodded.

There was a quick knock on the door.

"Trixie! Come play with us!" a girl demanded, knocking again, "Come on! Please, Andy and I are tired of waiting for you!"

Trixie promptly closed the book with a sound thump, placing it carefully under the pillow of her bed before moving to answer the door. Standing in the doorway, there were two girls. One was quickly recognized by Voldemort as being Narcissa Malfoy (at that time, Black), for she had the same blonde-platinum hair, long and straight as it was silk, and blue eyes, though they were softer at that age, and were shining with enthusiasm. The other girl seemed much more like Bellatrix than any other woman he had ever met – including her mother. Thus, the wizard was sure she was the bloodtraitor, the one who had run away with the muggleborn just right after Bellatrix's wedding; he could not remember her name, but then, that didn't matter.

"I shall play with you." said Trixie, almost sternly, letting them enter and closing the door again, "But then, only if you promise to try and keep my room tidy."

"Oh, Trixie, don't be so boring!" exclaimed the nameless girl.

"Hush, Andromeda."

"Don't fight, you two!" said Narcissa, pouting already, "Let's play and keep Bella's room tidy then.", she moved along the room, almost dancing, "I'll be a princess, let's see… I'm waiting for my perfect pureblooded prince to come. He will be strong and handsome and will protect me from those who don't like the existence of royalty!"

Lord Voldemort chuckled. Indeed, the Black family educated their children from a very tender age on how the purity of blood was of importance. Narcissa was the youngest of the three, if he was correct, and she already demanded that for a marriage, and with quite the enthusiasm.

"I want to be a princess too!" replied Andromeda, glaring at her sister, "I will be the elder princess, who is waiting for her prince too, her true love!"

That didn't sound quite right, but then, Andromeda was the black sheep of the family.

"You cannot be the elder princess, Trixie will be the elder princess." scolded Narcissa.

Trixie only smiled, sitting down as she answered.

"It's alright, I won't be a princess. I'll be a warrior-witch who helps the royalty to fight the ones against it. I will have a wand and when someone doesn't do what I ask, I'll wave it and make them obey me like daddy did to that man once."

Narcissa stopped her ballet-like performance, approaching Bellatrix with her eyes open wide.

"You saw that, Trixie? But daddy told us not to be around his office when he has reunions!" she whispered.

"I know, I know, but I only saw it very quickly. The man was shaking his head while daddy was asking something and then daddy waved his hand and the man stood there, looking all blank, and only said: "Yes, sir." when daddy finished to ask whatever it was."

Lord Voldemort was quite astounded. Such a young girl and already describing the effects of an Imperius curse, and even longing to use it! Well, he could understand that she wished to acquire power, but then, something seemed peculiar about her case – so different from the dreamy, child-like behaviour of Narcissa and Andromeda.

"Oh, Trixie, why can't you obey daddy for once?" Andromeda replied, also sitting down by her. "If you did, he wouldn't be asking all the time to talk to you and-"

She stopped as she noticed the evil glare Trixie was giving to her.

"I won't tell both of you anything again, since you always scold me!"

Narcissa and Andromeda promptly began to apologize profusely, trying to light up Trixie's mood, which had turned quite gloomy, but that did not last long. Another knock was heard, much stronger then the girls' one, and the door opened.

It was the bulky man from before. The Dark Lord recognized Cygnus Black now, in the light of the room – the same calculative eyes and strong posture – though he looked quite younger then, with his hair almost free from any hint of grey and almost no wrinkles in his face.

"Ah, there you are, pretty girls."

"Hi, daddy!" they swiftly answered, turning to face him.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, I know you are probably playing together, but I need to talk to Trixie."

"Now, daddy?" asked Trixie, seemingly even gloomier.

"Right now. Girls, if you excuse us…"

The two younger sisters nodded, moving to leave the room. Andromeda even shot an 'I-told-you-so' glare to Trixie, but they said nothing – closing the door behind them. When they were gone, Cygnus smiled at his eldest daughter.

"There, I've been looking for you all afternoon. Where were you?"

"I was playing around the garden and then I went to the library and then I moved to the kitchen to get some candy and then I came to the room to play with Cissy and Andy." she said and, Voldemort knew, lied smoothly.

"Well then. I needed to talk to you, dearest." his smile grew wider as he pointed his wand to the door, locking it tightly, "Why, seems I'm always having to punish you for some reason…"

And then Voldemort realized what was queer – the strangeness of the situation on the cunning Trixie.

He wished he hadn't open that locket at all. Because if he was right, and he normally was, those memories were going to be much worse than he had expected.

**Reviews are love. **

**Chapter title from the song "Your Possible Pasts" by Pink Floyd.**


	3. Chapter 3: What it was I came here to

_**What it was I came here to get away from**_

It was much worse than he would have expected. At least, Cygnus had the decency to leave the room in the darkness, though that hardly mattered. The Dark Lord was almost sure there was not one tiny bit of decency running up that man's blood. He did not close his eyes when it started, for the mighty wizard he was should not be affected by those things, but still, it was grotesque.

Trixie only cried. Unlikely, she did not fight her father, not even by screaming, she only cried silent tears and dry sobs as he violated her – one, two, three times in a row – telling how pretty she was, how bad he felt when he punished her, although he knew he was doing the right thing, because that's how girls should be educated to become _good_ girls.

The Dark Lord realized that Trixie probably didn't fight back out of fear: Cygnus had already given her various amounts of spanking during his repeated monologues, and probably could cause even more damage were she to dare question his actions.

Only two or three times Voldemort turned to look to his servant. Bellatrix stood still, her face emotionless… And she blocked any attempt of his to enter her mind – although he did not try that hard, because she probably was re-living even more memories out of her past, and the Dark Lord had no wish in watching two horrible scenes at the same time. She shivered slightly at the sight of her father blows, it was all. Trixie seemed to be in much more despair, so he did not pay attention to the witch's reactions.

It was like ages had passed when Cygnus finally left, the room still in darkness.

They could hear the girl get up and walk towards her bathroom – they had to accompany her to avoid falling on the darkness again. The marbled bathroom followed the pattern of the room: simple balcony, a small arrangement of flowers, and much sobriety. As Trixie entered, they could see her bruised body in the light, with purple patches and small smears of blood on her legs from the bruises on her womanhood. She bent to let the water run, and the motion seemed to hurt her as she let out a choked sob – it was sickening.

"Bella?" the door of the room opened slightly.

"Mommy!" she exclaimed, snapping her head up, her eyes nervous, "I… I am showering!"

"Bella, we are only waiting you for tea."

"I shall be there in a minute, mommy…" she said, biting her lower lip.

"Why are the lights of your room out, dearest? Were you napping again?"

"…Yes."

There again, she was lying. Voldemort did take notice on how many times she could lie through the day, and with her face and voice ever so true like there was nothing wrong, like her father hadn't raped her in that room only minutes ago, like the only thing she did was nap during the afternoon…

"You shouldn't do it." her mother scolded, restoring the lights with what seemed to be a flicker of her wand. "We are waiting, come quickly as possible, Bella."

And the door was closed – Trixie sighing in relief as she found herself alone again.

**Reviews are love. **


	4. Chapter 4: C'est la voix d'une enfant

_**C'est la voix d'une enfant qu'on giffle**_

Voldemort thought he wouldn't forget those memories nevermore. It was a sequence of terrors, one right after another – some which burned his pupils, imprinting there scenes he wished he had never seen. Others passed like breeze, not because they weren't terrible, no, but because they were repeating pieces of woes and living nightmares.

And Bellatrix, standing by him, only stared with terribly empty eyes.

**-xox-**

The girl looked at herself in the mirror, seemingly satisfied. Her long robes, lacy and dark, didn't hide pretty red shoes and her hair was tied up in a way that made it clear it was no regular day. She spun around a bit, and what seemed like a smile crossed her little face, making Voldemort shift uncomfortably – he had already noticed her strained expression through any situation and that smile was so different... It was even queer in comparison to the grown-up Bellatrix, who often laughed in mad delight. It was a very hopeful smile.

The door opened and she flinched nervously, turning to the newly arrived. Her shoulders relaxed when she noticed it was only Druella – beautiful and properly dressed in ceremonial robes, her hair also tied in an intricated way – though the older witch scowled slightly.

"Your posture is wrong. Try to look less arrogant and more feminine, Bellatrix."

Trixie nodded, trying to obey her mother. The Dark Lord frowned, though he understood the principles of it: looking attractive and pretty to be courted by pureblooded boys.

"Why do you always look so drowsy? Try to be more talkative today too, last party we went you were too quiet."

"Yes, mother." she replied.

Another knock, and the massive form of Cygnus entered the bedroom, proudly.

"Narcissa was calling you, Druella."

With one last severe look to Trixie, Druella left the room. Her daughter retracted a bit, looking at her father with fearful eyes. And when he stepped towards her, she babbled:

"Please, papa.. I'm already dressed, please..."

His response was to grab his wand and turn off the lights.

By the time that was over, when the only person in the room was only young, little Trixie, her long robe was creased, even torn, and her hair had become only a black mess of curls. Looking at the mirror, sadness and anger were tattoed so deeply in her little face that Voldemort wondered if she was going to smile to herself ever again.

From far away, soft music reached their ears:

_C'est pas seulement ma voix qui chante  
C'est l'autre voix, une foule de voix  
Voix d'aujourd'hui ou d'autrefois...¹_

**-xox-**

She leaned down the stairs, hidden by the handrail, her long, carefully brushed hair hiding her expression – and Voldemort could hear the voices of her parents, though they were out of their sight, while Trixie's hands clasped on the steps.

"I was thinking we should send her to Beauxbatons, Cygnus. She is not like her sisters, maybe it would do her good." Druella's voice was impatient, "She needs to learn manners, lady manners, to have a behaviour more similar Andromeda's or Narcissa's."

Trixie leaned more, eagerly.

"I do not think is wise to send her so far away, Druella. We wouldn't be able to know with who she would be affiliating with. At least we can get more information from Hogwarts, despite my dislike towards Dumbledore's views."

"I do want Bella to learn how to behave. She is different, Cygnus."

"Trixie is fine. Druella, I have said my final words on this matter."

The girl sank on the stairs, hiding her face in her hands, hopelessly curling up.

**-xox-**

The sunset sprawled it's colors into the library, making young Trixie lift up her head from the book in her hands. Her face was pale, eyes marked from a sleepless night and she shifted her weight, leaning back against the cushion, letting the book fall from her hands and on her lap – it was a big book, much unlike children's books should be, thought the Dark Lord.

"Trixie, Trixie!" Narcissa's soprano voice rang victoriously, "Oh, I found you!"

The blonde entered on their sight, bouncing her silk hair all around, seemingly exicted, though the look on her sister's face was unapprovingly and much discouraging.

"Oh, Trixie, do I bother you?"

"No, go on. What do you want?"

"What are you reading?"

"Nothing you can understand. What do you want?"

"Lestrange brothers and Malfoy are coming tomorrow afternoon!" Narcissa clapped her hands. "Isn't it great?"

Trixie seemed to take only a mild interest on the information, nodding to her younger sister – who looked disappointed for her lack of excitement.

"I always thought you liked Rudolphus! He's coming tomorrow."

"Good, now leave me be."

Narcissa sighed, rolling her blue eyes around as she left the library, humming some sort of song and making dance-steps, while Bellatrix stared at nothing, frowning in some unknown worry. The door closed and she lifted her sleeve, looking at her bruised arm with worry – and then Voldemort was surprised on how worse seemed the beating from the last one he had seen.

"How can I hide this from them?" both lord and servant heard her filled with fear whisper.

**-xox-**

Rudolphus took Trixie's hand – they were both sitting alone at the wooden swing by the garden. Voldemort suddenly realized he never pictured Bellatrix and Rudolphus as a long-term couple, he had never realized that they probably were together since that tender age, two kids exchanging affection. She seemed quiet, long sleeves hiding her bruised arms, long socks hiding her bruised legs, she was covering herself to try and keep her sick secret.

"Bella, are you okay?"

She nodded. He tugged her close and passed one arma round her shoulder.

"Did you read anything of those books I told you about?"

A slight smile appeared on her lips.

"Not a thing or two, Ruddy, I read all." it was possible to hear the proud tone of her voice, even arrogant.

"You always do! That's great, Bella... You'll be perfect in Hogwarts."

"Yes, yes, of course. My family expects nothing less than perfection.", and it was gone, both the smile and the sparkle in her eyes, as she replied that, fixing a cold gaze on the boy by her.

"Don't you want to be good?"

She blinked.

"Of course I do!"

"Then that's why you will be perfect."

Sometimes the Dark Lord forgot how words could affect one's mind. Trixie smiled, though she was hurt, though she was sad, though she was trapped. She smiled, passing one arm around Ruddy and making a small, stifled noise, which swiftly made her companion avert his gaze.

"You're my best friend, Ruddy."

It was possible to hear the truth underneath those childish, simple words: You are my _only_ friend, Ruddy.

"You're my best friend too, Bella."

**A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update. Exams are coming up and I'm pretty busy. But here you are, first compilation of Bella's memories by Voldemort. I hope to update again in two weeks or so. Thanks so much for all the reviews, you are all great! (: **

**¹ Part of the song "Cri du coeur", it's not hard to find the translation on awesome Google. I love it. Same for the title of the chapter.**

**By the way, title of chapter 3 from "Not Dark Yet" by Bob Dylan.**

**Reviews are love!**


	5. Chapter 5: Riding the Wind

"Why can't you be like your sisters and wear something girlish?" the high-pitch voice of Druella reached his ears before the image appeared before him. Trixie sat on her bed, in a simple yet sophisticated dark dress, looking at her mom with her usual expressionless face.

"Oh, no, you've got to try and be different. I don't know what else to do with you, if it was my choice you'd be going to Beauxbatons to learn to be a lady instead of some morbid discrepance."

"I'm sorry, mother, I'll change."

With a sound of despise, Druella moved to stand before her daughter, rolling her eyes and heaving a sigh.

"Yes, change everything – clothes, hair, face and personality! Only then you will make yourself presentable."

Her daughter barely showed signs of sinking those words inside herself, only nodded to Druella and muttered another apology – Voldemort was starting to hate those apologies, infunded, inept, unneeded, and once again any signs of the childhood sparkle he had once seen in Trixie disappeared behind the cloud of her eyes.

**-xox-**

And there he was again. Hogwarts – the place he once treasured the most in his life. It hadn't change since his years of youth, and he watched proudly as Trixie, now a skinny eleven-year-old, got selected for Slytherin, After so much pain, after watching she being beaten, abused and coerced in all possible ways, it was almost enchanting to watch her move to sit down next to Rudolphus and his brother at the silver-and-green decorated table.

Not everything was beautiful – her smile had faded over the years, and it was but a shadow of her marveled expression. He noticed the increasing feistyness of her nature, her seclusion, the enormous ammount of books she read, alone in the library, while her sisters partied and danced, their faces blushing with enthusiasm. She sat down at the table, the only answer of hers to the excited compliments of her colleagues being:

"I knew I'd be a Slytherin."

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, the Dark Lord could not understand why Bellatrix kept that single piece of memory on the locket.

**-xox-**

"How can you get such good grades, Black?" said a very much annoyed Evan Rosier looking at Trixie's works.

"I am smart, Rosier. I bet you couldn't get grades like that even when _you _were in your first year." she replied as she leaned to keep on writing.

From his chair by the fire, Rudolphus chuckled at the same time Voldemort allowed a small smirk to cross his features. She was, then, as proud as she was today, he thought, watching her amusement over Rosier's frustration. Her face changed quite quickly when a black owl entered through the window, moving to drop a very large envelop right on Trixie's lap.

"I should go to sleep." she stood, holding the letter in her petite hands and moved to her room. As she entered it, it was possible to realize she was alone – carefully she moved to open the envelop, trembling softly, her brow creased as she read it.

For the swiftly changing look, it was clear from who it was from. A small sob rose from her throat, and her eyes closed for a split of second. He could feel her tension exploding as if it was a spark in a gas-filled room, hurtful, tremendous... Bellatrix, by his side, licked her lips nervously, in a twitch.

After what it seemed to last hours, but truly were a few minutes, she stood and wrote the answer in huge calligraphy at the back of the letter.

_Please leave me alone._

**-xox-**

Christmas Holiday arrived with a fuss of snow and laughter at Hogwarts. In contrast with her colleagues, Trixie seemed to have grown gloomier as she packed to go home for the holidays – and it was not difficult to guess why. The usual group that followed her – the daughters of pureblooded families, such as Parkinson, Rosier, Macmillan and such – seemed to have noticed that and only spoke to her when she sat by them to strike a conversation, otherwise just following her around like cattle. Only Rudolphus orbited around her, asking many questions about library books and so on, recieving increasingly shorter answers, though precise and normally correct. It was hard to see if it was motivated by their friendship or by pity.

Young Trixie seemed to have been born as a leader. Though not as cheery nor as talkative as other girls, it possible to notice a somewhat weird respect that other classmates held to her. Being a smart and talented student, adding her classy pureblooded line and her looks – remarkable for a eleven-year old (though maybe that was a reflect of her stained childhood, thought Lord Voldemort) – all that resulted in na aurea of boldness that intimidated all those giggling and nervous girls.

"Trixie?"

"_Yes_?" she said, not even glacing at Posey Parkinson, who was one of the few brave enough to stay in the room while the Black packed.

"I was wondering if you'd like to spend a week at my house during holidays."

A flash of hope graced Trixie's eyes, but her voice was carefully concealed when she replied.

"It would be the most enjoyable. But I will have to see with mother and father... Sometimes we travel to France."

"Will you write me, then?"

"Of course."

Hope glittered again as she kneeled to grab more of her books.

**-xox-**

Spending that week at the Parkinson's house did not diminished Trixie's suffering during the holidays. Moved by some unknown cruel reason, her father seemed to have increased the amount of time spent with his elder daughter – maybe that or maybe he just missed her, thought the Dark Lord, terribly sickened. Missed her in that way of leaving her torn on the bed, crying, hurt, and with her huge eyes becoming even more pronunciated as the dark circles under her eyes increased.

_Sa pauvre voix tremble pour moi  
Si je disais tout ce qu'il chante  
Tout ce que j'ai vu et tout ce que je sais  
_

Trixie sat alone in the attic, hiding. Though that was becoming harder since she was growing, she still found empty spaces behind desks, cupboards and cabinets and tuckered herself inside – she sang softly to calm down her nerves, increasingly lowering her voice until it stopped completely.

_J'en dirais trop et pas assez  
Et tout ça je veux l'oublier_


	6. Chapter 6: All my trials, Lord

_All my trials, Lord, soon be over_

Sitting on the bedroom, Trixie read another book, quiet as usual – somehow she had got rid of all her friends to do so. Comparing to the rest of the beds, hers was very well maintained, without any pictures on the wall, and a small pile of books and newspapers on the floor by the bed, though she was, by the counting of a small calendar, by the end of the year.

She bend to write something on the parchment, biting her lower lip. Just then, the door opened.

"I was looking for you everywhere!" Narcissa's soprano voice rang around as the blonde moved to sit by her older sister, who seemed both annoyed and curious. Her sister tried her best to avoid her during the schoolyear, because she knew how much that irritated Trixie, so something should have happened.

"Be quick, I'm studying."

"Two things. First and more urgent one, Mother sent me a letter warning us we will be hosting a party on the first week of holidays."

"I know that already."

"Did you know maybe _he _is coming?"

Trixie shifted her weight, rising both eyebrows in a way that was clear she demanded more explanations.

"I quote: 'It is very important both you and Bella behave very well, because a very important guest might be present and it is of great interest for your father that he appreciates our family." whispered Narcissa, with great enthusiasm.

For a experient observer such as Voldemort, it wasn't hard to notice that those words had interested Trixie very much. Her eyes glowed in a malicious way and she seemed to be transfigured, different from her usual expressions, in a mix of expectation and curiosity.

"Second thing, Trixie, is it true that you went out with—" and she lowered her voice again. "Rosier?"

That seemed to snap Trixie out of her thoughts, with a frown that seemed somewhat satisfied.

"So rumours are already swirling around?" she chuckled, rearrenging her hair in a mocking way. "I did, why is that so interesting?"

"They say you—" but Narcissa didn't seem to be able to go on, only staring at her sister with her limpid eyes full of fear.

"It's true. I Crucioed him when he tried to touch me in a excessively intimate way."

Narcissa gasped. It was clear she had thought that was only a rumour, and listening to Trixie's uncaring confession made her feel awful. Her sister seemed so calm, even bored, her words didn't affect her, she didn't care that she had cursed Rosier, she actually seemed to be having fun with the rumour, having fun! Narcissa's voice was pitch high when she stuttered:

"You know what mom and dad would do if they found that out?"

"They won't found out because you're not telling them." said Trixie, threateningly.

Narcissa seemed terrified.

"You know how bad that _hurts_?" she inquired, pitifully.

"Do _you_?" asked Trixie, raising her wand. "If you want to prove your point..."

With a little scream, Narcissa ran out.

Sighing, but otherwise seemingly perfectly collected, Trixie got her wand down, and looked up to the ceiling. It was clear what was in her face – Narcissa was so easily scared.

"Of course I know how much it hurts, little sister." whispered her, through her teeth.

-xox-

"Get off me, please... Get off, get off...!" Trixie's voice was barely a whisper as she tried to fight off her father, her nails firmly pressing against his chest. "Go away... Go.. or... or... I will tell this to that man you talked to Mr. Malfoy about!"

At the sound of those words, Cygnus stopped. The Dark Lord saw his face clearly – it changed from fear to an anger too harsh to describe in words. His hand moved to Trixie's neck, as if to strangle her. Then he snapped out of it, growling and holding her firmly in place.

" What did you say? Crucio!" Cygnus pointed his wand at his daughter with no hesitation.

Tears rolled down her face – she couldn't scream and Voldemort knew she would be dying do to so. Her eyes were opened in pain, her eyelashes soaked while she bit her lips so deeply that blood dripped down her chin. Cygnus hold the spell even he was above her – and Bellatrix, the real Bellatrix by the Dark Lord's side didn't even move, her own eyes wide open, but her face otherwise expressionless.

"N-nothing! I said nothing- I—" she choked.

The man stepped back, stopping the curse to rearrenge his robes sternly, without even looking to the girl that cried and sobbed, curled on her bed.

"If you ever dare to do so... If you say this again- I will hurt you even more. I'll kill you. You understand that?"

She glanced up, grasping for air.

"You understand that, Trixie?"

She nodded.

"Yes, father."

He threw a spell towards her, making her flinch in agony as cuts appeared on her chest. Then left, giving one last glare to his firstborn.

-xox-

Bellatrix tilted her head a bit – she was now a beautiful fifteen year-old girl, having overcome that first years of the teenages, in which they can't exactly cope with their new bodies, and stood proudly in front of the mirror at the prefect's house of baths. Rearrenging her uniform slightly, she turned to leave, her hair moving in a sucession of curls.

By the door, stood Rudolphus Lestrange, much more alike the Lestrange the Dark Lord knew, now grown-up.

"I thought you'd be here."

"Have you been stalking me, Lestrange?" replied Trixie, rising one eyebrow, but the smirk marking her face showed she was actually amused.

"Always do that to pretty girls, Black." chuckled Rudolphus.

He offered his arm, which she took without hesitation, a pleasant look crossing his face, and they both walked down the corridors, speaking so very low that Voldemort had to approach them to hear.

"Is it true, Ruddy? That you plan on joining _him_ when you leave the school?"

"How did you even get to know that? I've only talked to Abraxas and Cygnus about it."

"Well, I spied on them." she confessed, without any shame on her pretty face. "This matter interests me, Ruddy, and you know that very well."

"I still don't see why. You should be worrying about other things than this, Bella. And don't look at me like this." he added, as Trixie glared at him.

"I don't want to be like Narcissa, and you know it very well, Rudolphus."

The Dark Lord remembered the last time the memories had shown Narcissa. Cheerful, very well dressed and with some sort of femininity dripping from her, she had become exactly what Druella seemed to want for a daughter: smart, attractive enough to get invites from many pureblooded boys, interested on families and their backgrounds and charming in her own way.

"I didn't say that."

"But you thought it! And don't lie to me, I don't appreciate being lied to." she spat, cruelly.

"Why are you treating me like that, Bella? You were never like this, is there something wrong?" Rudolphus frowned, half annoyed and half worried, stopping and turning to his friend. "Tell me, please."

For a split of second, the Dark Lord thought she was going to tell him – he was sure he saw her mouth move, her expression soften, and he thought she was going to tell him. Something wrong? Many things were wrong. But the second slipped away as the softness of her face, she was once again the cold Trixie.

"There's nothing wrong, Rudolphus, except from your refusal on telling me what you know I want to know."

Letting go of his arm, she walked away angrily, leaving behind a very confused man.

-xox-

"Studying for the NEWT's?" asked Narcissa, nervously, as she approached her sister, who was in the library. They were both in winter holidays, and the logic made Narcissa think her sister was actually preparing herself for the hard exams she had yet to face. The house was silent – Cygnus had been sick since the beggining of the year and his health was only deteriorating. Consequently, Druella spent more time alone and had adquired the habit of taking too much brandy from her husband's stock, which made the familiarity hard to deal with.

Trixie shook her head. She was now the woman the Dark Lord knew – her seventh year, and she would soon join him – elegant, yet with an arrogant posture, the pronunciated jawline making her face mostly unique, though not stopping her from being as pretty as her younger sister.

"I'm reading some news."

Narcissa sat down by her.

"About...' she glanced around nervously, "him?"

Trixie nodded. The black curls of her hair covered a bit of her face, though not hiding the dark circles under her eyes, which became increasingy noticeable as years passed, and it was with a somewhat whispered voice that she kept on saying:

"Yes, of course. Everyone is speaking about it, didn't you notice? Abraxas Malfoy and our father, as well as Lucius... Even Rudolphus and Rabastan seems to be going the same way."

"I know, and mother doesn't like that one bit – she often says we shouldn't meddle on their business, though you never hear her." said the blonde, sounding a bit impatient. "I don't see what you find so interesting. I mean, you talk about this since you were fourteen, Trixie, I just don't see why... What do you want to know?"

Sighing deeply, Trixie just glanced at her sister with a condescent air. Any aurea of kindness and comprehension had abandoned her, making her dialogues with her sister, though still a bit affective because of their closeness, turn out always terribly hard.

"I don't plan on knowing anything. When I was fourteen it only interested me why father was so scared of him... But now, my silly Cissy, I have greater plans. Plans which are much more suitable for me." she stopped to glance around and then leaned towards Narcissa to whisper. "I want to join him."

"No!" Narcissa couldn't hold back an exclamation of surprise.

"Yes. And I already talked to Rudolphus... We're only waiting until I leave school... I shall join him and devote my life to his cause."

"Trixie, you... And mother and father?"

"I will deal with them when time comes."

"You will deal with it now." Druella's voice was dangerous as the two of them turned to the door to face their mother. It was clear she had been drinking again. "You impertinent little girl! You don't even care that your father is sick, you don't show any respect-"

Trixie stood up, and the threat was not only in her movements, but in her voice as she growled.

"I show respect to something is far greater than your pitiful life, mother."

"Trixie..."

"Leave, Narcissa." she walked across the room to face her mother. "I did all you wanted, mother. I'm even marrying Rudolphus. I have always shown respect to you and father, even when I hated what I was doing... But you are not stopping me now."

She lift her chin, eyes glimmering dangerously, an exploding force that even the Dark Lord could feel. It was terrible and unimaginable that such a young woman could face her mother with such threat in her eyes, wand in hand, seemingly close to fighting.

"You respected us? Oh, indeed you did, right? You sick girl, flesh of my flesh, betraying me, doing... Oh, you thought I didn't know?"

Trixie seemed to falter.

"Yes, you are a nasty girl... I always wanted you away, away from this house, away from me, from your father... You like him, Bellatrix?" Druella's voice was filled with venom. "You like him a lot, don't you? You're sick!"

"Shut up! You don't know anything, you..." Trixie stumbled back, hands trembling.

"I do! I know more than you – I know what you did, I know what you did – you wanted this to happen, right? You did this to yourself! Nothing I did stopped you. And now you're leaving me to face everything alone because you stole him from me when he was healthy, but now he is sick and you don't want him anymore!"

"You're lying!" cried Trixie, desperately.

"You liked when he came to you! You—"

"What's going on here?" Rudophus Lestrange had entered the room, looking from mother to daughter, who glared at eachother, though Trixie seemed close to collapsing.

"Come on, Bella, come here..." he guided her out of the library, and Voldemort could see her shaking hands, her eyes filled with tears as she leaned on her fiancée for support. "Let's go out, you need some air... She... she is only nervous, she doesn't know what she was saying..."

"I... Ruddy, please forgive me."

"Why are you apologizing? You have done nothng wrong?" he squeezed her hand gently.

"Just say you forgive me..."

"Always, Bella."

-xox-

It was late at night when Trixie entered her father's bedroom. Cygnus lay on the bed, breath shallow and eyes closed – he was only a shadow of what he had once been, his body thin and his face cadaverical, the disease had taken most of the man with it, and he could barely speak when his daughter approached the bed.

"My Trixie... You came to look after me..."

"No. I came to do something I should have done long ago."

The moonlight hit her straight on the face, showing a terrible paleness, her expression perfect drawn – Voldemort knew that expression, the Bellatrix he knew had been using it for long. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, but her movements were precise and clear as she leaned over her father.

"Trixie, Trixie, you have always been my favourite girl... Tell me, what do you want to do?" despite being so damaged, Cygnus still sounded malicious enough to make the Dark Lord angry.

"I'm not Trixie. I'm Bellatrix. Bella. Your daughter," she whispered. "your daughter, though you never cared about this aspect of me... I'm Bellatrix."

Her hand moved to grab Cygnus wand, which was resting in the bedtable. Her fingers grasped tightly around the wood as she raised it.

"Avada Kedavra."

And as they were thrown back into the present, Lord Voldemort was still absorbing the fact he only now had knowledge of.

Bellatrix Black had killed her father.


	7. Chapter 7: She is losing it

_**She is losing it**_

Narcissa Malfoy wasn't used to be waken so late at night – but the knocks on her bedroom door were too persistent to be ignored, so she stood up, reaching for her wand and asking clearly, despite her sleepiness: "Who is there?"

"It's me, mother, open the door." Draco's voice was anxious.

With a rapid flicker of her wand, the door unlocked. Rearrenging her hair slow and precisely, as it was her custom, she approached and opened it decisively.

"What is it?", she demanded, rising one eyebrow. Then, feeling too harsh on her son, she reached for his hand, squeezing it softly. "Come on, dear, you look pale."

Draco was used to his mother's demonstrations of affection and her tendency to protect him, although he found it rather unpleasant, so he was not surprised to see she actually seemed worried. Little did she know!, and the boy felt it was not the proper time to start a discussion, letting her squeeze his hand over and over again as he explained:

"He is here to see you, mother. Downstairs.", said the blonde trying to cover the surprise and – why not? – the fear in his voice with the nonchalant tone both his mother and father used.

Wordless, she nodded and disappeared in the shadows of the room.

**-xox-**

"Just the brandy will do, Narcissa." the Dark Lord's voice was impatient, as the woman sat in front of him, nervously pouring brandy in two small glasses – her blue eyes were glancing around and she seemed at the edge of herself.

"My lord, I'm sorry-"

"I don't want to deal with your nervousness right now, I only need you to pay attention to my questions. "

She nodded, clasping her hands on her lap. Being waken in the middle by the night by a visit of the Dark Lord made her feel uneasy. Since Lucius had fallen out of favor, his visits were always a prenounce for something that hurt her terribly – first Draco... But no, she couldn't think about it now. Narcissa glanced up to her lord, no tone bit surprised to find him looking directly to her in a despiteful manner.

Hastily ignoring her thoughts and manners, Lord Voldemort searched in his robes and then raised Bellatrix's pendant, making Narcissa flinch and exclaim something unintelligible as her pupils dilated. Her expression reminded him of her sister and, for a moment, he thought she was going to throw herself on his feet, asking for mercy.

But then, Narcissa was not Bellatrix.

"You saw!". It wasn't a question.

And Voldemort somewhat understood the mixed emotions that accompanied the comprehension filling her face – it seemed he had reached intimity in the Black family, much to his annoyance. Having overcome the surprise of the memories, he now knew much about them, maybe more than anyone else. Narcissa slowly regained composure, biting her lower lip resignedly, and throwing her hair back, with glimmering eyes still showing signs of fear. She also seemed to have realized his position, needing no words of command to start talking, proud and remorse filling her voice.

"I did it. I was always good with memory charms... Bellatrix came here one night... It was raining and she came with the pendant on her hand, asking me to do it. It was just after her marriage."

"So, before joining my forces.", his voice was cold. "And, why didn't she erase your memory? Why do you know?"

"Someone had to know... She need someone to rely on. I am trustworthy. I made a vow."

He did not need to ask which one – fierce, her voice told him everything he wanted to know. It was the first time in years he had seen Narcissa remind him of her sister: not in the cunning way, but in a strenght that was actually closest to flames than to ice, and furious defenses and intimidating manners.

"I can only tell people who already know.", it was her statement.

"Who does?"

"Now, my lord, you and me. Rudolphus only knows small parts, what he could deduce from being so close to our family... Lucius only wonders."

"Druella?"

"No. My mother and sister made up on the day of my father's funeral, but they never talked about anything and the extent of my mother's knowledge is unknown."

"So you're my source. Talk, Narcissa, and don't lie. I shall not be merciful if any other thing is kept from me."

The blonde nodded, otherwise motionless. For a small while, the only noise that could be heard was the wind wuthering outside, as she composed herself, looking down to her feet, small locks of her hair escaping the usual coiffure.

"You see, my lord, my father was not tyrannical. My mother was much more strict than him, for she made us have posture, good behaviour and atittude. But she had not a tendency for seeing people miserable, or any kind of sadism, unlike my father.", her eyes closed involuntarily for a second, "Bella and him are so alike. He knew exactly where to hurt you, that he knew, where your fears rested, where your mind was the most weak..."

Her expression was slowly getting sour, that pretty little thing with blue, hardened eyes, and she pursued her lips a bit, pushing the brandy aside, and looking up quite frankly.

"Being brought up like that didn't affect me because my mother liked me."

"I noticed Bellatrix was not her favourite." said the Dark Lord, stating the obvious.

"They could not understand each other. To be honest, I think I couldn't understand Bella either. I remember playing with her a few times at my early years, but when I turned five or six she was so reclused – always in the library or in her room, and sometime she disappeared for hours. In the attic, of course. And she wandered about, dressed so gloomy, she looked much more like a ghost than like a girl."

He nodded. By Narcissa's account, Bella had been gloomier than any child he had seen, and she actually seemed to be a spirit, for she was quiet – it was weird such a introspective child had turned into that woman he knew. But the memories had shown another aspect of her, one that matched much more to Bellatrix Lestrange than to some pale pureblooded missy with no pep.

He looked intensively at Narcissa.

"She could be different, my lord... She turned out to be different. Bella had a nasty temper and if spoiled she would probably have become like one of those selfish children – she had passion inside her. Being brought up carefully would have made easier the task to deal with her. But then, you saw everything.", Narcissa sighed deeply, sipping her brandy. "What my father did was turn her into a warrior – she learned to fight her own battles, oh, that she did very well."

"So I noticed. A very good warrior, is what I think of her and both you and her know that very well, Narcissa."

"Indeed, my lord. Although... I think she would be your supporter and warrior anyway, even without my dad being..."

Brandy was poured into the glasses.

"What I think it's that she ought to be the way she is now – the difference is on how she would deal with her own way, that's all."

"Don't you think that changes anything about her, Narcissa?" his eyes pierced through hers.

"...She could have been gentler and more hopeful, I dare say. Maybe she would have a happy marriage with Rudolphus..."

The Dark Lord took a sip of her brandy, while his eyes were still fixed on Narcissa, making it impossible for her to hide anything from him. From Stern, she turned slowly pledgeging.

"Don't punish her, my lord... You have to understand her. It would be too much for my mother, too much, if that secret was spilled."

There it was.

"Bella didn't do this because of her mother.", he said, threatengly, leaning on the table to face the Malfoy mother closely. Narcisse almost choked in panic, leaning back on her chair. She was playing a dangerous game and she knew it, thought Voldemort as an inner struggle seemed to take place inside her. He could accompany the waves that came slowly and then went away, her breath uneven, her eyelids trembling as she held her hands tightly together.

"He destroyed Bella."

It came slowly, but then Narcissa lost that hold, that coldness she had gained since she had married. Now she became a Black and more, she was once again that girl he had seen – easily impressed, emotional, her huge eyes fearful. She was imploding and was within reach.

And when the words came out, nobody could stop them. Narcissa held the arms of the cushion until her knuckles turned white with the strenght, murmuring ferociously.

"You saw, didn't you? She didn't turn out like this because she was like this. She turned out like this because of him! Of course she wasn't like me, not even like Andromeda... Bella was always a fighter. But she lost it, my lord, she lost it... What exactly I don't know. But when she came here and asked me to put those memories in the pendant, I saw it was the only way to keep her going. If you had seen her then! My father destroyed her childhood and youth, I couldn't let he destroy the only thing that made sense to her. Serving you made sense to her!"

"You thought that would get in her way when serving me?", that theory seemed so full of flaws, but he could sense that no lie was being told then. Nothing had ever seemed to get between Bellatrix's desire to serve him – nothing, ever.

"No, she did. Bella did."

If he was surprised, he did not show that to Narcissa. And the woman slowly collapsed, kneeling in front of him, her voice now choked and terrified, while her eyes seemed to drown into itself as worry covered them.

"My lord... Don't let her see them. Don't make her remember them. Please! Don't punish her like that..."

He rose. He had to go back to the house.

Without a word, he disapparated.

**-xox-**

**A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update! Now the chapters will go faster, i'm already writing the next one (: By the way, chapter title took from a song by Belle & Sebastian with the same name. Thanks for all reviews and favourites and alerts! I feel so loved! 3 Won't let you down and will post soon. **


	8. Chapter 8: Tell me why can't I find

_Tell me why can't I find no relief in my heart_

Of course, she was in the attic – the Dark Lord knew that enough, so he went straight there through the corridors, through the dark passages that made up the enourmous mansion of the Black family. Since his arrival there, he had not cared much to get to know the place, spending his time between the meeting's room, the library and his own bedroom, all heavily decorated, all grandious – as the rest of the house, the style was what he liked, purebloodied old fashion. But, then the memories made him know the rest of the mansion, so it wasn't hard to find the way to Bellatrix's favorite hiding spot as a kid.

While he approached, soft, old music reached his ears; but that was so unlike the place that the sound was queer. The voice who sang it was whispering, it probaby did not want to be heard as it cracked and disappeared sometimes, was it frightened, maybe?

He silently went up the stairs.

It was so dark it was hard to discern whatsoever was scattered around the floor and hanging from the ceiling – he lift up his wand and the light he made reflected on the dust that flew around him. Cupboards, rolled-up carpets, small pendants of fairies... It seemed even more like a deposit, although the furniture was classy and in good state. Slowly turning around, he only saw a broken mirror which reflected his image in a dozen ways:

"Bellatrix.", it was a statement, not a call.

Lord Voldemort walked towards it, glancing around.

"Bellatrix.", his tone was turning to a demand.

As he turned around, he noticed something on the floor – something dark, some moisture, so soft that disappeared in the dust. He stepped towards a veil of needlework that fell from an harp laying against a wall, noticing the humming got more apparent. Kneeling slowly, he lift it.

And there she was, curled up, pressing her legs against her body, her face out of view – and she hummed the song, and it was recognisible.

_C'est pas seulement ma voix qui chante  
C'est l'autre voix, une foule de voix  
Voix d'aujourd'hui ou d'autrefois..._

"Bellatrix, get up."

She moved, with such slowness that it seemed she wouldn't do it, and in a second, he noticed her hands were bloodied – oh, the broken mirror, the stained floor. And her hands grasped his robes, forcefully, as she tried to stand, her legs unsure, her eyes almost closed as if she was in a daze.

"Forgive me, my lord. Forgive me.", she whispered, suddenly looking up at him, terrorized.

"We will talk about this later, Bellatrix… Now, get up.", his tone was monotonous, for he felt his patience clearly reaching a limit, as he watched his servant struggle to hold herself on place. With a loud tump, Bellatrix fell on the floor, making dust swirl around the dark – with a pungent moan, she tried once again getting up, murmuring apologies, as the Dark Lord looked her with his unmoving, nervously uncaring eyes.

But then she fell again, and the sound was softer, and she didn't move no more. With a twitch of his eyelids, Voldemort bent down to threaten her once again – anger pulsed in his veins, since no one ever disobeyed him, specially when that person was Bellatrix Black.

"I told you, up!" he growled, pulling her wrist strongly. But as she didn't gave any signs of reaction, he let go of it, violently pulling her hair back to stare at her face.

There, she was a broken woman. Her lips were swollen and her cheeks were still wet from crying, while the dark circles under her eyes were more pronunciated than ever because of her paleness, and, for a second, he stopped pulling the locks of hair on his hand to hold her in place, firmly.

With a heavy sigh of annoyance, Lord Voldemort prepared himself to put his most loyal follower to sleep. 

**A/N: Thank you for waiting! I'm sorry for not updating, but don't worry, my last exam is in a week and then I'll update the rest of the story very fast! BTW, I'm happy to share that I already entered one of the universities that I applied for, and passed on the first exam of another! (: Thank you for the reviews and messages, I feel loved! **


	9. Chapter 9: Whiplash girlchild

Whiplash girlchild in the dark

When Bellatrix awoke she found herself inside the room she had been staying since her arrival at the old Black Manor. Her gaze was still softly blurred, and the room lay in a dim light that did not made easier for her to perceive what had happened – the arrival of the recent memories made her flinch in a disgusted manner, therefore she tried to shove them back to her confused mind, her eyes resting on the dark mass sitting in a cushion by the bed. The vision of dark robes suddenly gave her a fright, for she was still expecting punishment, yet it did not take her too long, maybe only a heartbeat, to notice the ways and movements of Rudolphus Lestrange.

"Bella," he said, symphathetically, leaning over her, "how do you feel?"

She stared at him silently, her mind fanatically trying to absorb his presence. He had been gone for days, maybe weeks, on missions, recruiting, spying... And now his dark eyes were fixed on hers, reassuring, though she could notice his tiredness and worry. For a moment she felt a sudden urge to get up, maybe throw a fit for being treated in such a childlike manner, but the idea vanished as she let him take her hand into his. They were so very warm; only then she realized how terribly cold she was, wandering for a moment on why.

"The Dark Lord summoned me, he told me you got hurt in a mission... I came so very fast, he had lay you down on a cushion and merely spoke to me. What happened? How do you feel?" he repeated, moving closer to her.

"I should not talk about it, Rudolphus..." even in her bewilderment, she was loyal, she had no authorization whatsoever to tell her husband, and she did not know if she wished to tell him anything about it. She shivered and he took that for some sort of proof of her fragile state, nodding his head in reassurence.

"You don't have to say anything."

There was still a part of her that longed to curse him for his comprehensive acts, though this portion was quickly surrending to a more daring necessity that grew inside her as the memories – recent and old – floated inside her head despite her attempts at fighting them. She closed her eyes for a very long moment, cheeks marked with her past tears and still-appearing scars from the shards of the mirror and her hands trembled softly.

"Rudolphus, tell me something good. A good memory. Do you remember something good?" she whispered, frighteningly.

His brow creased. He had more wrinkles now, a hardened expression that still held a cloud of his past, for he had been a handsome man, but the years had gone by and what was left were those deep eyes that seemed in a fury to acknowledge something that fitted his wife's wish.

"We went... travelling, sometime. To France, I think." he managed to say, hesitantly.

"We did? I can't remember... I can't remember anything good, Rudolphus. It's all a blur of unknown voices and scarce images." she murmured softly. "Azkaban killed everything that was good, didn't it?"  
Rudolphus could not answer that – he had been thinking the exact same thing. That was his wife, and he still could not recall anything that had happened to them before the prison. Blurred images and voices, yes, and the stinging pain of not knowing anything anymore, no wonder Bellatrix was sick – she had the right to succumb, she always endured everything so well. He squeezed her cold hand, only it semeed smaller, he did not recall her having such petite hands, and it was with amazement that he caressed every single finger.

"You want me to stay, Bella? I can ask him, I can stay until you get better."

"No!" despite her weakness, she found enough strenght to exclaim roughly. "No, we need to work, we have things to achieve."

Even though that thought did not blow new life inside her, it somewhat challenged her beaten spirit, for her eyes suddenly snapped open, staring with great annoyance at her husband's face.

"Even if I worthless by now, you can't be too." it was a very logical statement, but it did not make Lestrange feel better about her condition: now she looked even feverish. But he could never win an argument, plus he did not want to argue, for his reason and loyalty knew she was right. What an amazing warrior-woman, he thought.

"Then, your will shall prevail. You're very loyal, Bellatrix. I admire you."

Those words made something stir inside her – pride or arrogance, what it was, and she moved her face so to face his.

"I've always been – and you too" she added with some sort of compassion.

Rudolphus smiled, as if he was ashamed. Both of them knew what he meant, that Bellatrix's loyalty gave her much more strenght than anything that he could offer, although he did not resent that, she tried to soften it when she noticed his bitterness.

"May I stay until you sleep?" it was the only thing he said.

In another situation, this would have flattered her in a queer manner, but now, feeling herself so edgy, all she could acknowledge was her intense need for him to stay – she longed for company as she thought she would soon succumb to the past once again. Bellatrix nodded, quiet and docile for the first time since her awakening, and her husband took that with the solicitude that he used to have, quietening himself yet analyzing her wounded features.

-xox-

The Dark Lord stood by one of the mansion's large windows, absorbed in his own thoughts. He had decided to leave Bellatrix to rest on a cushion and summoned Rudolphus to take care of her – he knew she wouldn't tell anybody about what she had recalled that day, as she was so terrified of it. But, although he tried to think about other things, his mind wouldn't wander far from Narcissa Malfoy's claim that Bellatrix chose to forgot her past because she wanted to serve him: it simply did not fit.

He clearly remembered the young Bellatrix, the one that had joined him so willingly, so eager to learn and to help him.

Bellatrix Black stood proudly before him, dressed for the occasion, a beauty that looked older than seventeen, a beauty that was enhanced by the impression of danger that she had. She surely was a brave young girl, for her eyes were fixed on his with such feverish admiration – she did not turn them away not even when she bowed to him.

"A pleasure, my lord." her smile was cunning.

Her desire to please him was so vast that scared those who did not have her greatness of will, her first punishment was met by her as deserving, her first success had made her eyes grow brighter and even more fiery. That made her soon more important than many of his other servants. Lord Voldemort had learned he did not need to use Legimency on her: her mind was open so he would roam inside it, absorbing anything he wanted to, every inch, every corner. And she kept a secret from him, even then! He remembered Cygnus accurately too. But he never had thought that man, so respectful, with such noble blood, would... rape his child constantly during so many years. Bellatrix had always been sarcastic and bitter, he had met her when she was like that, so he couldn't understand how could there be any other Bella - anything that wasn't what he knew.

His anger wasn't diminishing as he wanted it to. The thought of this unknown Bella did not upset him. Yet, the fact that she was hiding from him since the beggining made him doubt her loyalty, something he would never have thought possible. Had she not been so injuried already, he would have punished her. But for the present time Lord Voldemort was forgiving, forgiving Just until she could talk, for then he would extract the truth from her as poison is drawn from a wound, and he would expect no more than her acceptance of that punishment as she had beared so many others.

"My lord" the voice of Rudolphus Lestrange was respectful.

"I thought I had told you to go and see your wife, Lestrange" he replied coldly, not turning to face his servant.

"Bella is asleep, my lord, or, at least, I left her that way. Shall I return to my mission now?"

His lordship gave a sardonic laugh – oh, how good it was to have someone to vent at.

"Is that your way of saying you want to stay with her, Lestrange?"

"No, my lord, for she does not want me to stay. She says – if I may be so bold - that I ought to go back to duty."

Slowly, Voldemort turned and walked to a cushion near the fireplace, his eyes veiled, for he was meditating on what Rudolphus was saying: it was very alike Bellatrix to order her own husband to leave her, but it was alike the Bellatrix he knew before that day. In spite of his own doubts, he could not but to feel Rudolphus was needed out of the house – and if his servant did not want her husband, that was a matter settled.

"You may go, Lestrange."

He bowed, but instead of leaving immediately, the man remained there, his expression a bit altered, as if he had suddenly made a resolution himself.

"My lord, have I been with my wife on a mission to Paris?" the question was so queer that Voldemort was even surprised with it, and he was not very easily surprised. He glanced to Rudolphus, but this time with some interest and his voice showed no emotion when he replied:

"The only time you both have been to Paris was in your honeymoon, Lestrange."

Murmuring a very dedicated thank-you, Rudolphus disapparated. And his expression was one of a doomed man.

A/N: Finally, I know. Sorry, two universities are a bit hard to keep up with, but I'm back now, and will be posting again next week. Thank you for all the reviews and follow-ups!


	10. Chapter 10: It lies but can't stand up

Dear readers – I know you want to kill me. BUT, please, understand my apologies – my computer broke and I lost all my files, so I had to start all chapters I had written over again. Now, tomorrow or in the day after, another will be posted. I love you all, and I am sorry for being such a annoying writer.

-xox-

_**It lies but can't stand up**_

The Dark Lord waited until the night had risen again to go to Bellatrix. Despite his anxiousness, he thought it'd be better to wait until she could answer to him properly – any more stammering and stuttering would make things worse. But through the afternoon, many times, too many times, he took his time remembering things, trying to see through the woman he knew, trying to see the woman she truly was. Only he did not know what kind of woman she was.

He entered her room without knocking.

"My lord!" she exclaimed, trying to sit up. There was some fear in her voice and thoughts, he could sense it.

"How do you feel now, Bellatrix?"

Bellatrix was not stupid enough to think he was speaking out of concern, his voice was a mixture of mockery and boredom. She tried to answer him without fumbling with her own words, but failed miserably and ended up looking to him, completely unsure of what to do. Voldemort walked towards her, but stopped abruptly, standing in the middle of the room.

"Now, Bellatrix, stop trying to speak freely. You'll answer me, answer every question I make." his tone was cold and full of pulsating anger. "Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, my lord... I will. Everything." she whispered, curling up.

"First of all. Were those memories real?"

She nodded, her eyes very wide.

"I said: answer me.", the words were a threat.

"Yes, my lord. They were real." she hurried to reply.

"Why didn't you tell someone?" he continued, monotonously.

"I... I couldn't!" she exclaimed, frowning – she had not yet assimilated the knowledge well. Despite that, it wad fiercely that she continued "What would people say? And my mother? My sisters? I had a name to stand to."

"And you did not confront your father because you were afraid of him, is that right?"

He was merciless. And she was getting agitated – both of them knew he was torturing her.

"He would kill me!" her pitch was very high.

"But, in the end, you were the one that did it, wasn't it?"

Bellatrix broke into uncontrollable sobs. Her whole body shivered and trembled – she curled up further, hiding her face in her hands – and her voice cracked into a hoarse murmur. This would not stop Voldemort, for he was determined to force the truth out of her, if it hurt her in the way, the better.

"What could I do? I was getting married, leaving the house – leaving my sisters at his mercy! What if I—" she almost choked with the words "What if Rudolphus and I had children? I had to do it!"

Her voice disappeared again in the middle of the sobbing.

"Oh, don't sound so broken" he said, mockery poisoning his voice. "You led your life – you have a husband... I must say, I never thought you had any sort of—problems."

The woman felt a very sudden pang. Sex. Of course the Dark Lord thought she didn't carry the scars of abuse on that matter: he had seduced her many times, even before she joined the Death Eaters, the last time being during the night she got marked. Her gaze met his and he knew that she was thinking about that. Voldemort himself had wondered about this particullary during the afternoon, for he could not understand how a abused girl could have, well, handled that.

Besides, he had not been gentle.

"He had already destroyed so much..." started the witch, in a slow, apologizing manner. " I couldn't stop my life because of him! A-and... I had orders to obey, I couldn't simply-"

"You didn't slept with me because I ordered, Bellatrix, you and I know that." Said Voldemort, coldly.

"I didn't mean it like that!" she shrieked, fearfully.

He gave a short laugh.

"Let's recall everything, Bellatrix. Despite killing Cygnus, you felt you ought to, so I highly doubt you have much remorse on that. You got married, your sisters were safe and you _clearly_ didn't have any problems with men. So... Why did you hide your memories, Bellatrix? No one knew but you." he stated, very camly.

She didn't answer – she didn't dare to look up at him.

"I would..." her voice was very low. "I would be an easy prey for Dementors."

"Don't lie to me!" he roared, looking now the darkest wizard of all time, his eyes reddish and frightfully uncaring. "Why did you erase them?"

And then he understood it. Bellatrix unguarded herself in her fear – he could see it clearly. Bellatrix had not erased her memories before joining his forces, she had erased her memories soon after she got her mark – both her and Narcissa had lied to him, hiding the true regard of Bella's behaviour.

He couldn't see clearly anymore. He was filled with rage. He held out his wand.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"


	11. Chapter 11: Allow me that

**Oooh, thank you so much for the reviews and favorites and follow-ups! I feel so loved! **

**Next chapter will be up by the 3****rd**** of July.**

**-xox-xox-**

_**Allow me that**_

The Dark Lord noticed what he was doing in the moment the words left his lips. He was killing Bellatrix Lestrange – and it was too late, the spell was done and the green light was flashing, the whispers of the wings of the seraphs of Death were approaching and soon his most loyal servant would lay limp on the floor. And why?

Uniquely because of her weakness. She was no traitor, no, she had broken no vows, her devotion was unwavering. She was guilty only of her foolishness, of her hope. Could he call it hope? He did not sense hope in her mind – he sensed only her deep-rooted wish, that had torned her while growing. No, she had no hope. And now she would die.

When the light subsided, he dared to look in her direction and something that seemed like relief fluttered on his chest – she was fallen, but trembling with her cries, crumpled by the bed.

Before he could walk up to her, she blurted out, her pitch so high the words were barely discernible.

"Forgive me! I-... I'll accept it! Forgive me..." and her voice died once again in the middle of her sobs.

With a few easy steps, Voldemort was in front of her. She clasped his robes, in desperation, murmuring her apologies, saying she wouldn't escape her punishment again. It was so pathetic, her eyes wide in fear – but it nudged him somewhere in the depths of his mind, so he knelt.

"It's alright, Bella. It was just a scare... You won't have to die to pay for your mistake. Everything is fine." , his voice, though never soothing, was firm enough so she was able to speak again.

"Forgive me, my lord! I tried—I... please, forgive me!" it was the first thing he heard, as her knuckles turned white while she held his robes.

The Dark Lord knew what she meant: she could never abdicate of her human nature as he did. For Bellatrix was always his shadow, his puppet, the one that mimicked his actions and his thoughts in order to grasp his power – to perceive it as something more material. But no, she could not give up what was the basic characteristic of human nature, because she had to feel something.

It was by suppressing it that it had developed. She swore to serve him. She knew that would displease him. Therefore, she kept it out of his eyes.

"I know you did, Bella."

He was bound to notice that someday, of course. Voldemort knew instinctively that Bellatrix never intended to keep this forever – she was not above him, he was wise enough, was mighty enough to find out where she kept her tormented feelings.

"Forgive me, my lord... I did not want it to... Stop me from serving you..." she murmured, fearful.

"Why would it stop you, Bella?"

"I thought I'd be cast out from the Death Eaters!" her shrieking did not surprise him, for her temper never changed during sadness. "I thought..."

"You thought I'd kill you?" he retorted, as a slight anger crept up inside him.

"I'd rather be dead than not being able to follow you!" she exclaimed, very passionately. Since the instant she had dropped her last shield he had no barriers inside her mind, truthfulness and affliction dripped from her words and her gaze was once again intense as a void.

Her crying was now almost entirely subdued.

She was leaning on him.

His control over her had never been so complete. He could feel her entirely now, he could see her as whole – nothing stopped him from being her, being inside her mind and soul. Never before Bellatrix Lestrange had been so undone. She was stripped of her own self, for there was nothing that he could not see, nothing that he could not feel. This overwhelming possession was desired. Lord Voldemort longed for possessing more knowledge, more power, more loyalty...

It was her affection – her raw human weakness – that left him so much in control of all. And Bellatrix knew that now, and she rejoiced, because she never wanted to hide anything from her master, nor wanted to escape from him. Therefore, she only stared at him with her hard, devoted eyes.

The Dark Lord's smirk was snake-like.

He leaned and kissed her tear-marked lips.

**-xox-xox-**

**Reviews are still love. **


	12. Chapter 12: You rearrange me

**A/N: I know, I am an awful person. I've been planning to post this since the beggining of August but I was never truly satisfied by it. And then I suffered a small accident and broke a bunch of bones of my left leg and I am stuck in a wheelchair for a while and it sucks. But, now, with a help from pain killers and a handful of ice, I am updating this. **

**It's not the last chapter – I still need to tie a few loose ends. I think there will be about two more and an epilogue. I hope to update until the 28th of September, but it might change if I have to get surgery. But I'll not go on another long hiatus because I have sketched the next chapters and all. **

**Thank you for you patience and I apologise again. **

**Lots of love. **

**-xox-**

**You re-arrange me 'til I'm sane.**

He had left her soon after claiming her. She did not cry, no, Bellatrix was not scared of the place in which she was being settled again. Now that she had revealed herself to the Dark Lord she had nothing to fear, because she had waited for so long – no, she had never hoped, she never considered this lightness in her future, the lightness of being accepted.

Beggining to understand herself and what have happened, Bella started to sort out her thoughts. The memories, the past... Her father.

Oh, that had not driven her lord away – that sickening secret. _A sickening secret?_, she mused, _must have been about a hundred of them._

Surely her family had a lot of skeletons in the closet.

But that had not driven her lord away. And, most of all, it hadn't stopped her. Oh, yes, that was a fear that had been overcome. For she could give herself entirely to the Dark Lord without losing herself into her own distress, without reopening the wounds.

"You should see me now, father" she murmured, a victorius grin spreading on her face. "You should see me now, I should have let you live so you could watch me being free from you."

Free from him, but not free. No, she did not want to be free.

**-xox-**

Things such as failure, thought Voldemort, are blinding. He could see his Bella now – if he had known before, maybe he wouldn't have resisted such a temptation. She was completely loyal to him, because she loved him. And that was a much more welcome thought that he had considered it to ever be. It was desired – if her love was complete, she would be his. Completely. That was the sensation of holding someone's life and fate in your hands.

Completely.

This crossed his mind as he entered back in her chambers, and he smirked in his snake-like manner. Bellatrix loved him to submission and oblivion and loyalty.

"My lord?" she said, looking up at him. She herself seemed satisfied – he could sense her recovery. She was changing every minute, growing, sprouting. It was intoxicating, that fullness of her temper now that she was slowly coming back to this reality, not to the created reality that she and Narcissa has created for her to endure.

"Can we talk, Bella? I am..." his voice was smooth and flawless. "Intrigued."

"Yes, of course, anything you want, my lord."

That was good, this obligency. For she was still bound to his will, whether her newly-formed soul wanted it or not.

"How long have you known?" he sat in the bed, by her, letting his eyes wander, appraisingly, in her figure. That seemed to be changing, too – though it would take it time for it to recover it's bloom, if it ever did. It was not the experiences of the past days, but the prison, the constant fighting that was consuming her, that was eating her from inside out. But she held something that was even more valuable than youthful beauty.

"Since always, I think... I cannot remember. I suppose it started with admiration..." she said earnestly, focusing, motioning backwards.

"Oh, yes, I do recall that you worshipped me." He never had doubts about that, and her memories showed that it was even more intense than what he had thought.

"Always have, always will. Since the beggining. I used to hide and hear my parents talk, or even go after Abraxas Malfoy when he was home, just to get information. I wanted that change... The wizarding world needs it. Needs you, my lord." Her voice was breathy, in that purr that she had always used when talking to her lord. A lover's caress.

"It shall have it, Bella..." he replied, satisfied.

"Yes, I know, my lord – you will conquer it, fully."

He smirked once again, then tapping against the bed.

"Why did you kill him, Bella?"

The Dark Lord could sense her tension once again, and the way she shyly looked up at him from behind her eyelashes was a disturbing sight. That was not his Bellatrix, but some other that he did not want to see again, a scared prey. But she did not avoid him, licking her lips slowly.

"I needed closure." It's a very clear statement. "I needed to make sure my sisters were safe, I needed to... I needed closure." She repeats, weakly.

He moved his hand so it rested on top of hers. An uncharacteristic warm gesture – though he was not doing it for her sake. He was the one that could not bear a babbling, frightened Bellatrix, for that tested his patience more than anything else.

"No one else calls you Trixie."

She trembled. He withdrew her hand.

"I hate that. It was... always his name for me." her whisper was poisoned.

"For me, you are Bella..." and then he suddenly chuckled, a dry chuckle that would frighten less brave wizards than Lestrange. "Bellatrix when you fail me."

Her smile was weak and tentative, because that are certain lines that no one wanted to cross when it came to the Dark Lord.

"Your husband sent you an owl." And there he was again, very serious, very threatening – the most powerful wizard of all times. "You should write him whenever you feel like it."

"Yes, my lord, I shall do it."

"Do you remember your honeymoon, Bella?" he asked – Rudolphus' terrified gaze still lingering in his thoughts. Voldemort was not someone who liked not knowing.

"...Barely, I... I have a small, fuzzy memory of it, my lord."

She breathed slowly, glancing away again.

"Azakaban takes everything out of you, my lord."

He nodded.

"It was not like we could talk, and try to keep eachother company and sanity. It was worse to see the other fall."

"What more about Azkaban, Bella?" His servant had to open herself completely – he hadn't asked because that was Azkaban, and it was sickening and maddening and people rot there. But nothing would slip anymore: fear, desire, love or dirt.

And then her voice changed, getting high-pitched and raw:

"I thought I was actually deranged – there is a thin line between what's wishful thinking and what is hallucinating. There was a thread of hope that no one could crush, but there was also a lurking shadow, painful, sorrounding you and whispering about the many meaning of dying." She licked her lips. "I just... shut everything down, and now I can't get it back."

"And, yet, you remember me." he stated, simply.

She nodded.

"...It's different, my lord."

He leaned back a bit, inquiring her with his eyes – if he was indeed interested or if he had an ulterior motive she couldn't tell.

"Rudolphus has been with you since always, and yet you forget him. But you remember me." He rolled this words around, not sounding smug, but almost like that. Oh, the deliciousness of having someone that was bound to your every will.

"He is my best friend – always has been." Her voice was pleading. _Don't humiliate me._

"And I am your loved one. The one you would follow everywhere." _I won't._

"Yes, my lord. Through hell." _Please._

He let her approach and inhale his scent, his hands on her arms, her face in a glow of pride and joy and submission. And he traced her lips with his fingers, and then her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders—and she burned, because he was claiming her and it was intimate and exquisite and it was not love, and he was accepting her.

"Tell me, Bellatrix." He demanded, pulling her towards him.

"I love you." The witch breathed – and the little Trixie disappeared, Bellatrix was back and she was hot and rough and at his mercy. "I will follow you forever. Do with whatever you want with me, my lord."

And she leaned more into him.

_Yes, __**please**__. Please fix me, my lord. _


End file.
